Chapter Text
Upon first impression, The Balladeer is something of a wretched soul. He is so unequivocally angry; enraged by his perception of humanity. Perhaps some part of Nahida understands — after all, she too is the victim of a human’s cruelty. Yet, a kindred spirit is not enough to bring any sympathy to her heart. Nahida recognizes where their differences fall: The Balladeer wants to bring ruin to the humans. She, instead, would like to help humanity do better. Where their loyalties lie is what draws a line in the sand.
So, when The Balladeer falls, Nahida does not feel remorseful. She stands with Aether and watches The Balladeer’s descent; only Aether flinches at the shockwave that follows. Before the dust even settles, they have left to finish their mission: to save Irminsul, to save Sumeru.
Maybe some small part of her does hold remorse. After the Akademiya has begun its restructure and the Akasha has been shut down, Nahida remembers The Balladeer. His body, presumably, is still laid in that crater; abandoned in Joururi Workshop. Though she is unsure if anybody would miss him, or that anyone would want him retrieved – after all, The Doctor had been uncaring – Nahida arranges for some of the Matra to escort her there.
Debris and toppled machinery is still scattered over the workshop’s floor, left just as it was when she and Aether departed. Dust cakes over the marble and sticks to the bottoms of her feet. The Matra cough and cover their noses; so much of the dust still sits in the air. Nahida realizes then that they cannot stay with her, so she sends them back outside. Their reluctance is tempered down when she says, “The workshop is clear, I sense no danger.” And it’s true – she doesn’t. She had expected some crackling of Electro in the air, or maybe even some miasmic remnants of shattered divinity. Neither is present. In its place is an eerie stillness.
Cut deep into the center of the floor is the massive crater that the Balladeer left in his wake. As Nahida approaches, she holds her breath. She cannot help but feel anxious about what she might be about to see.
In the center, nearly lifeless and broken, lies the Balladeer’s body.
So much of his skin is marred and mottled. Blood trails past his lips, dried in its tracks. A dried puddle of ichor surrounds him. Nahida can spot where his bones had been broken – but they seem to have already healed, even set back into place. With tiny, cautious steps, she approaches the Balladeer’s body. When she kneels at his side, it startles her to see his chest trembling. A shaky, labored breath falls out of him. He takes in another, and it is weaker than the last. He’s still alive? But she cannot deny what she sees. I must bring him out of here.
Only the most trusted of physicians from Sumeru’s Bimarstan are allowed to see The Balladeer. They confirm to her what she already knew – his bones are very recently healed. No fresh bleeding is present. His breathing is labored still, but they cannot know why without more invasive testing. Before they can ask, she dismisses them.
She has her own hypothesis.
It had been so faint; almost impossible to detect when she had first entered the workshop with the Matra – but there is a hint of divine pain. Almost like a curse, Nahida feels something clinging to his soul. Her hands spread gently over his struggling chest. Dendro pervades him, and she feels for anything amiss. Immediately, she finds the culprits.
Plants. Three of them. And they are each rooted into his diaphragm.
For one long month, he sleeps. Nahida watches over The Balladeer with a care that she is unsure he deserves. But her discovery leads her to a new sentiment: he is more human than anyone has given him credit for. While he struggles for breath in his sleep, she offers a healing balm of Dendro. She drags a wet cloth at his lips. Nahida is unsure if this is the right thing; unsure if he will even be worth saving in the end. There is no guarantee that he’ll wake, or that he will offer peace if he does. But at the same time – something tells her that she needs to try.
So, she waits. She waits and she cares, and she watches. Over that month, Nahida grows used to the softness of The Balladeer’s sleeping face. The rage has melted away; in its place is a vulnerability that she might not have expected before. Pain wracks him when she cannot be there to quell it. Nahida often returns from meetings to a shivering body with a red and teary face. The plants in his chest – a Sakura, Maple, and Amakumo forest – continue to grow. There is no doubt in her mind that they are painful, that they might kill him later. Some part of her hopes that he will wake before that; that maybe she can offer some help.
And then The Balladeer wakes.
He is so much more docile than expected. A horrible defeat sits in his eyes, and Nahida almost finds herself flinching from it. The way that he offers himself up as a prisoner – something about the idea brings an ache to her chest. Someone so prideful, so incredibly hungry for vengeance… to be unmasked as someone so undoubtedly human underneath…
Nahida wonders then, whether or not any of it was real. Just how much of that anger was just pain? How much of that pride was just a shield? Had this been how he survived? For five-hundred years, had the Balladeer just been shouldering a burden he could not bear?
A deal, she offers him. His assistance in exchange for freedom. At first, it looks as though The Balladeer will refuse her. But then – the mask falls back in place.
“Oh? Interesting,” he hums. “Well then – lay it on me.”
They make the trek into Irminsul. It’s just as well that Aether had turned up; he can be The Balladeer’s physical escort. Should something go awry, it will be easier to handle with Aether present. And anyway, she is making this dive for his sake. The bickering that falls between the two is as amusing to listen to as it is irritating. At the very least, the jabs are light-hearted; no threats of violence come. If anything, it seems as though The Balladeer is more open. He is acting far kinder than expected. His own barbs seem to be a form of his own entertainment, rather than an attempt to cut. Perhaps Aether notices, too – when he points it out, The Balladeer does not argue.
As he begins to trawl through the recesses of Irminsul’s roots, Nahida reaches out to Aether and Paimon. Their conversation is meant to be private, but –
The Balladeer catches them out.
Though he tries to sound annoyed, Nahida thinks she hears something else. Hurt, perhaps, caution and fear. While he accuses them of deafening a prisoner, she includes him again. But the effort is for naught. The time between this conversation and the next is long enough to bring a devastating discovery.
It is then that they all bear witness to The Balladeer’s truth.
His heartbreak is too insurmountable – for a moment, Nahida sees a spark of the manic god she’d originally known. But as quickly as it lights, it fizzles back out. The Balladeer gives them what they need, though it ends up being from his own personal intel. A horrible irony, Nahida thinks, that this brought nothing but pain.
She is ready to bring them back to the world when suddenly the Balladeer shuts her out. He secludes himself with Aether, and she cannot hear what is said. A horrified look strikes across Aether’s face. Just a flicker of surprise is enough to answer what the Balladeer had asked. Darkness flickers in his eyes, like the finality of a dream. Then, they are all thrown out of Irminsul’s space. When she realizes that The Balladeer is not with them –
Aether warns her. He wants to erase himself from Irminsul.
Such a drastic decision is staggering. It is an impossible task to erase oneself from the history of the world, from existence itself. She doesn’t understand what he’s thinking. But she also knows that there is no way to stop him. The repercussions will be dire, even if she does not know the specifics. So, Nahida gets to work. Paper and pencils and a boundless imagination – that is what she will use to rescue them from this predicament. If written and illustrated as a story, then maybe –
Nahida feels as though she has forgotten something. Whatever it might be, she is unsure.
Upon first impression, The Wanderer is an unassuming soul. He is quiet and polite. So, to be told in no uncertain terms that he is a former Harbinger, a war criminal, a prototype god made by her fellow archon – it is more than a bit of a surprise. If she pries just deep enough, she can sense the tiniest hint of divinity in him. And also something more; something acrid and rotting. But it is all tamped down by a mild demeanor and a soft face.
What comes as a greater surprise is his own willingness to listen. Most people would scoff at the accusations being lobbed at him, would shirk off what sounded like a child’s tale. But he tells them that he feels something missing in his chest. There is an emptiness that he never understood. And that is something Nahida would like to understand, too. If Aether is right, and this young man is truly an ancient and divine creation, then this needs to be unearthed. If Aether is right, then this is a matter of understanding Teyvat’s history.
A storybook has been in her possession for some time. She does not remember when she first found it, but she recognizes her own handwriting and drawings. They tell the story of a sweet little cat – abandoned and heartbroken, left to its own devices in a lonely place. The cat is found, given a home and a family. It learns to do cat things, it learns to play and to smile and to love. And then a monster comes, and it takes everything away. Something about the story feels dreadfully familiar. When read to the group, Aether nods in fervor.
The Wanderer looks almost stricken.
This clever thing she did – writing history within a fairytale – it gives them the chance to witness the Wanderer’s story. Memory by memory; The Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, The Balladeer, Scaramouche, Shouki no Kami. All of them are a different face of the same man.
Abandoned and broken, bitter and defeated, lost and wandering; and then everything in between. Were she not in their company, Nahida thinks she might have wept. She recognizes his wrongs, and she knows very well that The Wanderer is evil. This iteration might be docile, but so was his first. But she also sees and understands this: he is human, he is hurt. Hurt people will hurt people. Never has a better example sat in front of her before.
She places the decision in his hands: leave this place without the memories, or accept it and all of the consequences that come with his crimes. Nahida thinks she already knows what he will choose; she hopes she is right.
And she is.
Abel emerges from the ashes of his past in an interesting state. His mask returns: the snarky bite and sharp claws of self-hatred. But he also retains the mild nature of The Wanderer. (Of, perhaps, The Kabukimono). Nahida watches as he shrinks away from the world around him, how he jumps at shadows that aren’t really there. There is a wariness in him that begets an ancient distrust; something that cannot be unlearned so quickly.
But, oh will she try.
Baby steps, she settles on. An order to explore, to collaborate, to spend time amongst the population; one at a time and ever slowly. And Abel is so much braver than she could ever hope he would be. She sees a deep remorse in him, a horror in his eyes, whenever they meet someone he had hurt before. Master Tighnari of the Forest Rangers, General Mahamatra Cyno, Acting Grand Sage Al-Haitham – they all floor him in his tracks. While he might be able to fool them with a smooth poker face and an even smoother voice, Nahida knows better. For each meeting, she holds his hand and squeezes tightly.
(And when that makes him tense, too, she does not dwell on it).
When she learns that Abel had managed to have an amicable dinner with Aether, she is impressed. If they can work peacefully together, then that would be all the better for everyone involved. She will not press it; Nahida knows that theirs is a larger gap to bridge than the others.
It’s a pleasant surprise to find that she’s already developed such a warmth for Abel. Nahida finds it very easy to read beneath the snark. His mask is not as tightly fastened as he thinks. The bluntness of his words is refreshing – almost charming.
So, when Nahida realizes that Abel is gravely ill, she’s utterly heartbroken. His weary acceptance is what makes it feel worse. ‘The price of his sins,’ is how he tries to reason. Every time he says it, Nahida wants to smack him. She is not a violent person, nor a vengeful god. But to watch her new friend lay down and accept an unjust fate is enough to light a flame in her heart. Nahida tries to reason with him, to find a solution. Abel will not bend.
In the end, she must accept it. Then he will die.
The seasons change, and with them Abel does, too. Nahida watches with a bittersweet joy as he slowly accepts people into his life. First is the kind merchant that had taken him under his wing in the beginning. Ruhan, she learns his name is. Khalid, the owner of the antique shop, also takes to him quickly. Abel makes acquaintance with the blacksmith and the young researcher that hovers at his forge most days.
Abel befriends Aether.
It starts so slowly, but then escalates in a blink of the eye – Maybe knowing that Abel is ill, seeing that he is human, is what allures Aether. But, that Abel is willing to suffer it… that is the miraculous thing, Nahida thinks. It overjoys her and fills her with pride that Abel can tolerate Aether’s presence and concern.
Then, she watches them orbit each other. Aether tugs Abel into an entire friend group. And what an irony – that the people who once brought him to his knees are the very same people that become his main support system.
(Though, Nahida thinks it wouldn’t matter. She knows these people. They would have come around to him anyway, even if they knew the truth like she and Aether did).
When they, too, discover that Abel is ill, their devastation is great. In the wake of it, Abel makes the decision that he had refused before – to find a solution. He would not try to survive for his own sake, but he would try for the others. That is the moment that Nahida knows Abel is not the same person she first met. He is not The Balladeer, he is not Scaramouche, he is not The Wanderer.
He is Abel, the man who loves with his whole heart, and will keep it beating for everyone but himself.
During his trip to Inazuma, the absence Abel leaves behind is loud and unsettling. For three weeks, she prays to the forest that he comes home with an empty chest. For three weeks, Nahida hopes that his heart has not stopped beating already.
When Abel walks to the Sanctuary of Surasthana again, with steady breath and a smile on his face, Nahida knows that things will be okay.
And things are more than okay, she finds. The orbit between Aether and Abel has completely collapsed. In their time away, it seems that they collided beautifully. Nahida watches how their dynamic changes, (and yet doesn’t really, when she thinks about it).
Love is something she thought Abel might always fear; yet he wears it so openly around Aether. It brightens him in a way that not even the sun could. He becomes a star in Aether’s eyes, Nahida thinks. She sees how he worships the ground beneath Abel’s feet. She sees how Abel keeps Aether grounded. The balance between them keeps the world steady. Nahida could not imagine a better match for the other.
When they leave for the desert, she does not expect what would happen before they came back.
Nahida does not expect to find the flowers that are growing in Abel’s chest.
She does not expect to have to say goodbye.
In the wake of Aether’s betrayal, Nahida watches Abel suffer. The decline is alarmingly rapid – though she should not be surprised. This is a relapse, and one that came entirely too soon. It starts with a cough; one that accompanies memories and thoughts and lies.
Slowly, she watches him lose his will. His home deteriorates, his appearance withers, his energy wanes. Not once does he say anything. Nobody knows the details of what transpired – not even her. When Abel’s friends come to her one by one to ask, all she can tell them is that she is also in the dark. Only one thing is easy for them to understand.
This will kill him.
When his body starts to fail, when they discover how serious it is, it is entirely too late to do anything. Nahida will never forget the haunted look on Kaveh’s face as he comes to fetch her. Never before has she seen such shock and grief on his beautiful face. There is blood on his hands – an orange petal has stuck to one of his fingers. All she can do is nod and take his bloodied hand in hers. They walk to the Akademiya together, they fetch Cyno. And then they walk down to the Bimarstan. The entire time, Kaveh’s hand trembles in hers.
Before they go into Abel’s room, she pulls Kaveh to a sink. Nahida washes his hands for him, and then she pats his cheeks. Kaveh looks at her with wide, glassy eyes.
And all Nahida can say is, “I know. I know.”
Abel makes the most of what’s left to him. Nahida thinks she has not met a braver man than him. In the face of death, he chooses to live. She watches on as his friends bring him along for outings, how they try to live their lives as if nothing is amiss.
She watches them cry afterwards; every time they tell him good night.
On a bright and beautiful day, just before the dawn of Spring, Nahida brings Abel out on a walk to Vanarana. She believes with full certainty that he can see the Aranara – that he probably already has. It is a serene place, and they both need some serenity. The clover trees overhead bring a cool shade that causes Abel to shiver. For a moment, she wishes she had brought a blanket with them.
Aranakula approaches them when they arrive, and they tug at Abel’s hat. She watches their exchange, listens to Abel reassure this child of the forest with the gentleness befitting of a god. When Aranakula leaves, Nahida watches as Abel’s shoulders slump.
They find rest in a clear patch of grass. While her knees tickle against it, Abel sits beside her. Energy has continued to fail him as the days go on, and Nahida can tell that he is already exhausted. Boneless and weary, he sprawls himself out on the grass. As his eyes threaten to close, Nahida coaxes him to lay his head in her lap. She runs gentle fingers through his hair as he falls asleep. Under the bright sun, she can see the way his soft face has grown sharp and gaunt. Deep bruises encircle his eyes, and his cheeks are sallow.
Like a whisper, like an echo, Nahida thinks she remembers a scene so very like this one –
Abel whimpers in her lap. Tears brim at his eyes and threaten to spill from the corners. Her lips wobble at the sight. This place is supposed to be happy, this place is supposed to bring them peace. Nahida lets out a shaky breath, and then she presses her palms gently against Abel’s temples. The softest kiss of Dendro brushes over him.
Sweet dreams, Nahida thinks. Let him have sweet dreams.
The whimpers grow quiet, the tears slow. A soft smile spreads across Abel’s face. His breath stutters – but she can only fix so much. For now, she will just have to watch while Abel has some sweet, loving dreams.
Spring arrives. At first, they were not sure if Abel would live to see it. And it’s a near thing – the final stages have set in. No longer can he walk, much less get out of bed. Roots and stems have grown over his joints; flowered over his skin like small floral barnacles.
Not once has Abel made any mention of Aether, of whether or not he wants Aether here. And to their credit – none of them have asked. And when it comes time to discuss the things that will come after, Aether still does not come up. Nahida tries; subtly, at least. ‘… And anyone else you might decide that you want to include,’ Nahida had suggested. To that, Abel had said nothing.
More than anything else, Nahida knows that Abel deserves to have his boundaries respected. There is almost nothing that she would want to do less than cross a boundary.
Almost.
A letter; she writes a letter. She could visit his dreams, probably. But that feels too direct and sudden; it feels too invasive. This is her compromise. Should the letter arrive in time, then this was meant to be. And if not –
Well, then fate had made her decision.
Katheryne smiles and nods in greeting when Nahida brings her the letter. She sometimes wonders if the woman knows that her body had been borrowed, once upon a time. If she does, then she does not show it. Instead, she assures Nahida that the letter will arrive to Mondstadt in a timely manner. When she offers her thanks, Katheryne smiles and gives Nahida her sincerest, “Ad Astra Abyssosque.”
And then the time comes.
Before the great yawning chasm of death, Abel does not tremble. It is not quite defeat, but it is not bravery, either. Peace, Nahida realizes. In his own way, Abel has found peace. It should help her. (It does not). Instead, she has to wear her own brave face. Today, she is more than the God of Wisdom – she is a friend, near and dear and precious. And she cannot disturb such a precariously built resilience.
Tighnari is so much more than just a helping hand; he is perhaps her greatest support in all of this. From the beginning to the end, he has been a lifeline for Abel and her both. While they watch their friend leave the world behind, he holds her hand through it. While everyone else around them falls apart, while Abel is dying in his own bed, Nahida just holds on tightly to Tighnari’s hand. That first day is rattling. When Abel catches a fever, Tighnari uses one hand to cool his forehead, while the other still clutches Nahida’s.
When the front door opens that night, and Aether walks in, Tighnari is still holding her hand.
And Aether’s heartbreak is such a devastating thing to witness. Nahida had thought before that she might feel some sort of resentment toward him; resentment for what he had put Abel through, and for what they had all gone through in the aftermath. Instead, she just offers her other hand to him. Tighnari does the same. They hold their hands together, and they all weep. For time lost and for all of the things gone unsaid, they weep.
To her surprise, Abel is not so angry with her for her interference. Nahida watches as Abel grabs onto Aether in their first interaction since separating. Loving and hurting and desperate, they clutch onto each other after that. Nahida knows then that she had made the right choice. Aether had needed to be here, and Abel had needed to have him here.
They could not go without a goodbye.
Death is far too ugly, Nahida thinks. Later, she will never want to reflect on these moments. To watch as Abel finally slips away from them – in spirit, if not yet in body – is to lose a part of herself. With his eyes closed and his voice gone, with such horrible sounds coming from his chest – Nahida thinks she might go mad in her grief.
And yet, none of it can compare to Aether’s devastation. When the harsh gurgling in Abel’s throat and the rattling in his chest has gotten too intense, Aether can no longer just sit by. He climbs into the bed behind Abel and pulls him into his arms. Gentle and steady, Aether rocks with him. Aether cries into Abel’s back and kisses his shoulders, his neck, his hair. He whispers to Abel, about everything and about nothing. She hears him spill the same words more than once – the ones she wishes Abel could have heard most.
“I love you so much. Please don’t leave us.”
In those moments when they think Abel might have stopped breathing – Aether almost shatters in front of them. But then Abel will suck in another breath, and the cycle resets. To most in Teyvat, Aether is a fearless hero. Right now, he is only a grieving lover.
On what feels like it might be the final day, morning comes with a shimmering light. The windows of Abel’s bedroom are a beautiful painted glass, and when the sun hits it just right, the room becomes a kaleidoscope of colors. Aether’s teary eyes fall on a square on the floor; a bright blue, refreshing like the water of an oasis. And then something sparks in him. Ever so carefully, he climbs out of the bed and lays Abel down against his pillows. A gentle hand glides against Abel’s cheek before he turns back away.
It's been far too long since Aether stood on his legs, and he wobbles from the shift in gravity. But he pushes past it, and he approaches Nahida. “There’s something I need to do,” Aether says. Almost frantic, with his hands wringing in front of him, he tells her, “I’ve just remembered something. And I – I need to –”
Nahida shakes her head in exasperation. She doesn’t understand. “What? No, you can’t – Aether, we can’t guarantee he’ll –”
“His bracelets,” Aether says. “He’d worked so hard to buy them.” He gasps and rubs his hands over his face. “Just this one thing –” Aether begs, “Nahida, please. He – he never got the chance. I want him to be able to call them his, even if only for a few minutes.”
“He’s so close – you’ll regret leaving if he’s gone before you come back. It’s not worth it.” Nahida reasons. She feels dizzy. If Abel dies while Aether is away, she cannot even fathom how he would react – what he might do in his grief.
“I have to try. Abel’s so – he’s strong. I know he can stay with us for a while longer.” A sudden look of determination plants itself on Aether’s face, shaky though it is. “This was important to him. I have to do this.” Then, he takes off. The door closes behind him with a harsh click.
In the time that Aether is away, Abel’s breaths only grow more and more feeble. Nahida holds her own in fear. If this is it –
But then, Abel opens his eyes.
Rallying, Nahida remembers. When the dying gain a sudden lucidity in the final moments before – Immediately, his eyes scan the room for Aether. The realization that he isn’t there deflates him. Nahida doesn’t know what to say, or if anything she says could even help. All she can hope for is that Aether returns soon, and that his plan is worth the upset. The very last thing she needs is for Abel’s last living memory to be one of abandonment.
Aether returns. With him is a miracle.
The apology Aether gives – the implications it leaves for everyone who hears it – fall in congruence with the gesture he makes. It’s the only thing that can explain Abel’s sudden energy. Nahida thinks she can hear the death throes of the flowers in Abel’s chest.
And it’s in time with their kiss; with the words that follow.
“I love you, too.”
Another thing that Nahida will never want to recall after this: the horrifying process of coughing out withered flower roots – of which, unfortunately, Abel is a veteran.
Treasures Street’s springtime business is as successful as ever. The Winter’s wet weather yielded a harvest of gorgeous blooms to sell. Fresh bouquets and flower crowns, incense and other essential oils, all of them fill the merchant and artisan stalls. Nahida giggles as she watches Kaveh haggle for a bottle of Padisarah-infused oil. The architect is very clearly an expert – he knows just the right way to poke the shopkeeper’s buttons.
Abel scoffs beside her. Their hands are intertwined as they watch together. “He did this last year, too.” With a shake of his head, Abel tells her, “By the end of the day, he had more things to carry than he had limbs to carry them.”
“And that’s what you’re here for!” Kaveh says, bottle of oil in hand. “We’re working those muscles out again, and there’s no better weight training than holding shopping bags.”
Nahida only giggles again. “I can take the bottle, at least.”
At that, Abel only rolls his eyes.
They follow Kaveh down the entire line of stalls as his collection of purchases grows steadily larger. By the time they’ve reached Lambad’s Tavern, all three of them have far too many things in their arms. Nahida huffs and puffs as she lugs a bag of oils and perfumes. This is what I get, Nahida thinks, for opting to take the ‘easier’ job. She thinks she can hear Abel snickering beside her.
In his arms is a much lighter haul – relatively, at least. A bouquet, a rug, and a small bag of painting supplies. Though he probably won’t admit to it, Nahida can see the beads of sweat at his temples and the redness of his neck. She knows it does not feel as light in his arms as it looks.
Lambad’s Tavern is a cool reprieve. On the upper floor, they meet with Cyno and Tighnari. They are both quick to come help with Kaveh’s things, to lessen the burden in Abel’s arms. Nobody comments on the way he slumps under the relief. Instead, Kaveh claps a hand over Abel’s back and rubs his shoulder.
“You better have a big tip planned,” Abel sniffs. “I don’t come cheap.”
Kaveh only laughs. “Of course, of course. Your tea is on me.”
What follows is a lively meal together. Al-Haitham arrives when the tea does, yet he doesn’t even crinkle his nose at the smell. Nahida is unsure if it’s from his impassive nature, or if it’s a practiced immunity. Either way, she dares crinkle her own nose at Abel as he takes a sip. When he pulls his lips away, he sticks a tongue out at her in retaliation.
The banter is natural, like nothing is out of place. But there is one thing missing.
Aether is not here.
It will take time, Nahida thinks, for everyone to forgive Aether. What transpires between Abel and Aether is their business alone; but everyone else’s relationships with him are separate entirely. Nahida has already begun to move on. With implications and limited context, she has come to understand what had happened – if only in the barest sense. To her, what matters most is that Abel feels comfortable. If Aether’s remorse is sufficient enough for him, then that will be enough for her, too. Abel’s forgiveness trumps all else.
From what she understands, Kaveh is the only one who has not reached out. There have been conversations between Aether and Cyno, Tighnari, and Al-Haitham. Both separate and together, and also both with and without Abel present. They have a gap to bridge, but the steps to fix it are already in place. For them, Nahida has hope.
(But it’s not such a clean fix, Nahida knows). There are meetings in between which end with harsh words and pained eyes. There is a respect that they all share for Abel’s feelings, and a great amount of caution, too. It stays their hands from outright arguments, but it does not soften their skepticism.
Yet, Aether’s first eventual brush with Kaveh is a volatile one.
Nahida was not there to witness it, but she’s been told by onlookers that the Matra almost got involved. What spared Kaveh from arrest was Abel’s own insistence; Al-Haitham was certainly fine with the idea of his partner seeing some consequences for his outburst. But Nahida hears of the sharp words and objects thrown, of the way some shops needed to close in fear of a greater commotion. A public lashing, Aether received. And apparently – one he stood through silently.
It doesn’t surprise her; Nahida knows that Aether’s remorse runs deep. She remembers the fear and the horror on his face when he watched Abel cough out those roots – his roots. She remembers the way he had curled in on himself and told Abel that he deserved so much better, now that he had the chance to walk away with closure. She thinks that if it had come to it – he would have let Kaveh lay a hand on him. Aether would gladly have given him the other cheek afterward.
She watches as time starts to heal that wound. Paimon is a fantastic help, much to her surprise. The fairy’s elation to see Abel alive and well is a distraction and an olive branch. In this entire situation, she had been an innocent bystander. For her, everyone can set aside grievances. It’s her inclusion that leads to their first meal together again.
On a Friday night, when the tavern is busiest, they decide to have dinner. Nahida thinks it genius. If Kaveh were to throw a fit – drunken or otherwise – then it will sound no different than the rest of the tavern. His outburst would just mix with the energy around them. When she arrives, he is already there nursing a cup of coffee. It surprises her, to see that Kaveh is trying to stay sober. She has not actually seen him drink before; Nahida thinks he has refrained in her presence. But she has heard stories. Oh, has she heard stories.
Everyone else is here already, aside from Abel, Aether, and Paimon. Tighnari has a wary eye on Kaveh. He’s been rather wordless – an unnerving sight to see. Al-Haitham has an arm around his partner’s shoulders, gentle and grounding. Nahida can only hope that it will help.
A shrill, familiar voice calls up to them from the entrance downstairs. “We’re here!” Paimon giggles and says, “Paimon is ready for some grub!”
Whatever she says after that gets drowned by the buzz of the tavern. A few moments later, Abel and Aether ascend the stairs. Paimon is sat on Abel’s shoulder – she has been far too attached to him since their reunion. She waves excitedly at the group as they walk up to the table.
Abel rolls his eyes. “Only you could manage to be louder than the tavern.”
Paimon shrinks at the realization. “Oh.” Then she pats Abel’s ear and says, “Paimon is sorry.”
At Abel’s side, Aether is quiet and cautious. Rather than prod or push, Abel just takes it one step at a time. His hand finds Aether’s, and Nahida watches as their fingers entwine. Like a weight lifted, Aether’s shoulders sag. Abel tugs him along to the table, and they finally sit down. Paimon comes down from Abel’s shoulder to sit in Aether’s lap. For all that she might be boisterous and childish – she is also wildly perceptive where it counts. She settles her back against Aether’s chest while Abel puts a hand on his knee. As a unit, they stand strong – even when one of them is ready to flee.
The dinner is an awkward affair at first, with stilted discussion and stretches of silence in between. But Paimon’s exuberance to have everyone together again makes it a little easier to weather. The first olive branch extended comes from her hand. When the drinks arrive, Paimon cries out in joy. “Oh, thank goodness! Paimon was getting parched. One more minute and poof, she would have turned into sand!”
With a glint in his eye, Cyno accepts the branch. “I didn’t know you were a mage.” When everyone looks at him with wary eyes and brows dipped in question, he says, “Did you train in the desert? You must make a fantastic sand-witch.”
Two things happen after that, in the span of a breath. While Tighnari wilts and Al-Haitham sighs, and Paimon falls into disappointed hysterics – Abel laughs. Openly and without shame, Abel laughs at the terrible joke. His head falls onto Aether’s shoulder. Aether, devoid of a rection before that, smiles softly and lets Abel shake against him. And Nahida notices – Kaveh is watching, too. Impassive when he should be irate, Kaveh watches as Abel hiccups against Aether’s shoulder. Nahida watches as something loosens in Kaveh’s eyes.
Then, Kaveh turns his head to Cyno and scoffs, “You’re insufferable. Dinner is on you.”
Cyno smiles, and then he says, “Sure. It’s only fair that I pain my dues.”
At that, Kaveh groans and drops his head in his hands. The mood around the table lightens. As the evening goes on, it feels just a little bit easier to relax, to talk, to breathe. Nahida watches as everyone breaks bread and pours drinks. She catches as Kaveh and Aether meet eyes over Abel’s tea. There is uncertainty, but no animosity.
It is then that Nahida is confident that things should be okay.
Every day since his brush with death, Abel has continued to wear those stunning blue bracelets that Aether had bought him. ‘Blue Agate,’ Abel would correct her, as he tipped up his chin and puffed out his chest. When out in the daylight, they shimmer against his wrists. Nahida has caught him gazing at them when he thinks nobody is watching – fingering at the beads and feeling their gloss. All this time, she had never known about the bracelets or his plans to buy them. And apparently – nobody else had, either.
Nobody, except for Kaveh and Aether.
And of those two – only Aether remembered.
So, it doesn’t surprise Nahida when Abel often seeks Aether out after gazing at the bracelets for a while. She’ll pretend to look the other way when Abel wraps his arms over Aether’s shoulders to steal a kiss, or how he’ll tug him closer so he can duck his head under Aether’s chin. Their exchanges work like nonverbal dialogue: apologies and forgiveness and all of the unsaid things in between, expressed with soft touches and silent moments. They share a gratitude for each other that Nahida does not think many people might be able to understand.
Because how can you feel grateful for a person who almost killed you? But it’s a double-sided coin, and the question goes both ways. Their relationship was never simple to begin with, and it never will be. And that’s okay, too. So long as they can navigate it from here, Nahida has hope for them.
The first time she spots Abel wearing Aether’s scarf after that – she nearly cries.
By then, the season has almost passed, and Summer is very near. Its heat is sweltering, even from her cool spot under the House of Daena’s awning. Nahida spots Abel as he passes by with Aether. They’re heading inside, and a scholar shushes them for entering a quiet space with a lack of propriety. The noise is entirely Aether’s fault, Nahida can tell, because Abel shoots him a withering look after the scolding. A rosy tint colors Abel’s neck – and that is when Nahida realizes that not all of it is from irritation.
Abel is boiling under the heat, but does not take off the scarf. Perhaps she will rib him about it later – that for all of his practicality and bite, he too has his own ridiculous proclivities. Nahida is certain he’ll scoff at her, and maybe even blow a raspberry in her face. (And that reaction will make it all the more worth her effort).
Summer brings with it an occasion overlooked the year before – Aether’s birthday. From what Nahida understands, it’s not an exact date. Teyvat’s calendar is far too unlike the one Aether was born in, and so any approximation is near impossible to make. For countless worlds, he’s chosen to celebrate during the time of year he and his sister enjoyed most. In Teyvat – Aether decides on Summer. Nahida thinks it fitting for him, given the embodiment of sunshine that he is.
And perhaps, also because a year ago at this time, there had been precious little to celebrate.
A year after that frightful trip to Inazuma, and Abel looks brighter and healthier than Nahida can ever remember. He might, in fact, be healthier now than he ever has been in his life. The realization is dizzying.
Abel and Paimon are the ones to plan everything out, from the food to the decorations, to the list of invitations. Nahida helps where she can, which is to say very little – so much time has been missed in the past few months. In her fervor to keep an eye on Abel in his recovery, much of her work has been placed upon her subordinates. When Abel realized the sheer weight that she had put on their shoulders, he had ushered her back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana and even threatened to ‘ground her.’
Nahida can admire how bold Abel has become; that he is willing to stand against a god so blatantly again.
On a dazzling Summer afternoon, she accepts Abel’s invitation to his home. Inside, she finds that the walls and ceilings have been adorned with gold and silver stars. Paimon is very proud of her work, and she kicks her legs in the air as she explains to Nahida about how she made everything herself. Greater than the decorations, though, is something else that catches Nahida’s eyes – Around the home, there are countless things that she remembers. They all sat in a box in the corner, surrounded by dust and heartbreak. Now, they sit in innocuous places, as if they were never gone to begin with.
When Abel comes out with platters in hand, he spots her eyeing the things around his home. Neither of them say anything; but Abel offers her a smile and a nod. And that, really, is all Nahida needs.
Their other guests arrive; all of them friends and family. Ruhan is happy to crowd Abel in the kitchen and relieve him of the rest of the cooking, while Kaveh busies himself by helping Paimon finish with the rest of the decorations. Cyno and Collei are setting up a card table while Tighnari feeds Oyabun. The last to arrive – Al-Haitham walks in with Aether, who looks incredibly flustered by the scene in front of him.
Abel scoffs when he sees the pink dusted on Aether’s cheeks. With a steady hand and a confident grip, he tugs Aether inside with him. Nahida watches as Aether settles with the touch, and she smiles.
What follows is a lunch filled with smiles and laughter. The only coughs Nahida hear are Kaveh’s own sputters as he chokes on his wine –
“Honey? Mooney?” Kaveh gasps. After another struggling breath, “You two use pet names for each other? And we never knew?” He sits red-faced and teary-eyed.
Tighnari sits with his hands over his face and his ears pinned back. Cyno, beside him, seems unfazed (and perhaps even amused). It had been a silly slip; Tighnari had offered honey to Ruhan for his tea. And then Cyno had said, ‘Yes, Mooney?’
“How have we never –?” Kaveh starts to ask.
Al-Haitham quirks an eyebrow. “Habibi, when do we ever use our pet names in front of them?” he asks Kaveh. “Until now, they would never have known.”
At that moment, Nahida thinks she is about to watch someone ascend to Celestia. Kaveh looks as if he has left his own body. “Hobbi –” Kaveh hisses.
Aether watches the whole thing unfurl with sparkling eyes. He asks Cyno, “Why ‘Mooney?’”
Before Cyno can answer, Collei lets out a groan beside him. She buries her head in her hands like Tighnari, while Cyno explains. “When Collei first returned to Sumeru, we were trying to help her stay fluent with both Sumeru’s tongue and Teyvat’s.” A warm smile grows on his face, as his eyes seem to gaze on something long ago. “Easal – honey, she struggled with; so we were practicing with it quite a bit. ‘Nari and I had just started living together and –”
Through slitted fingers, Tighnari grumbles, “I called him Honey.”
Cyno nods, and he says, “He called me Honey enough times that Collei started thinking it was part of my name.” Collei whines in embarrassment beside him. With a chuckle, he brings a hand to her back. “To make it even, I had to choose a name for him. And we were in our honeymoon phase, so –”
“Honey-Mooney,” Aether says.
Cyno smiles while Tighnari and Collei continue to wilt. “Honey-Mooney.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Aether seems to be in thought. While toward the end of a card game with their friends, Aether turns to Abel and says, “I need to give you a pet name.” When Abel gives him a very dead stare, Aether only laughs. “Let me think, let me think –”
“One name was enough,” Abel sniffs. “I already use it every day.”
Still, Aether presses, “Darling.”
“No,” Abel sighs.
Aether taps a finger to his chin and hums, “Sunshine.”
With an ugly crinkle of his nose, Abel hisses, “Absolutely not.” Before Aether can try another, Abel crowds into his space and blows a raspberry into his cheek. “No pet names. I need one name, and I already like the one I have.”
The admission quiets Aether. His eyes search Abel’s, and he asks, “Do you mean it?”
“Did I stutter?” Abel asks. He scoffs, and he tells Aether, “We need to get your hearing checked.” But his words have no bite in them. Nahida watches as Abel pulls Aether into his arms and tucks him under his chin. “If I didn’t, I would have discarded it a long time ago.”
Later, when everyone has left and sunset is about to fall, Nahida hears one last exchange on the matter. Aether and Abel are walking her back up to the Sanctuary of Surasthana together. As they trail beside her, she watches and listens to them banter.
“You might not need a name,” Aether says, “But maybe I want one.”
Abel sighs. “You’re incorrigible.”
“No,” Aether says. He taps a finger to his chin again, and then he smiles slyly. “I’m Sweetie. And you –” He stops to think for a moment, and then his eyes glint mischievously. “And that means you’re Salty."
It’s the first time that Nahida has heard Abel heckle at a joke; his reaction is almost funnier. And Aether surely thinks so, too, if the shine of his eyes and the dimple in his cheeks means anything. Rather than fall into a fit of bickering, Abel just huffs and draws closer to Aether.
When they reach the top of the Great Tree, the sunset is golden, and the breeze is cool. Abel kneels down to embrace Nahida. She clutches onto his back before letting go. Their foreheads bump before Abel stands again. Nahida pads away on her tiny feet, but she doesn’t go inside. Instead, she turns and watches as Aether adjusts the scarf around Abel’s neck. Abel brings his hands up to brush at Aether’s bangs. In the light of the sunset, the Blue Agate beads glitter.
Nahida watches as Abel drops his hands to tug Aether along with him. There’s a question on Aether’s face that Abel only smiles at. They end up scaling the rest of the tree – up to its highest branches. To see them at the top, Nahida has to run back to the balcony and look up. Against a backdrop of gold and pink and violet, Nahida watches their silhouettes. They lean in and press together, slow and soft and sweet. It’s then that she realizes she really ought to give them their privacy. Even with the title of a god, she knows that not everything is hers to witness. But even then, as Nahida finally steps into the Sanctuary of Surasthana that evening, she feels certain –
Yes, they will be okay.
